


The Third Annual SHIELD F*** With the Interns Contest (or How Darcy Lewis Met Her Father)

by pippen2112



Series: Dammit Barton Series [6]
Category: The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Darcy is Tony's Daughter, Explicit Language, F/F, F/M, Gen, Get Together, Humor, SHIELD Agents off Mission
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-30
Updated: 2013-01-30
Packaged: 2017-11-27 12:36:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,832
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/662067
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pippen2112/pseuds/pippen2112
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which SHIELD holds a contest, Darcy renames a medic, Natasha gets the girl, Tony throws a tantrum, Clint just wants to watch the Lion King, and Phil is... well... Phil.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Third Annual SHIELD F*** With the Interns Contest (or How Darcy Lewis Met Her Father)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Grimmalie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Grimmalie/gifts).



The Third Annual SHIELD Fuck With the Interns Contest (or How Darcy Lewis Met Her Father)

 

“So,” Clint says as he drops in from the air vent and into the extra chair in Phil’s office.  “Who else isn’t getting laid?”

 

 Natasha looks away from Coulson mid-sentence and barely raises one eyebrow.  Coulson looks up from  the debrief he’s been filling with Bland Expression #4: Unimpressed.  Clint looks between the two agents and nods understandingly.  “It’s okay, me too.  Sadly, this whole saving the world on a weekly basis is not conducive to having a sex life.”

 

“Is there something you wanted, Barton?” Coulson asks, quietly, hoping the sniper-turned-Avenger will get to the point.

 

“It’s that time of year, sir.  Contest time.”

 

Something behind Natasha’s eyes shifts, turning her expression from “keep talking and I will force feed you your balls” to “keep talking _or_ I will force feed you your balls.”  Clint’s honestly not sure which is more terrifying.

 

Coulson checks the date on his calendar and nods slowly.  He’d forgotten about the annual contest most of the senior agents put on.  A small part of him had hoped that they’d stopped bothering with the contest; it tended to end with a surprising amount of property damage and new agents in SHIELD-funded therapy.  But then again, a much larger, much more sadistic part of him can’t help but gleefully wonder exactly how much shit will hit the fan this year, particularly once Natasha and Clint draw their names.

 

Natasha turns back to Coulson with a seemingly-blank expression.  It’s taken years of observation to notice the manic gleam to her eyes.  “Come on, Clint,” she says confidently as she stands up.

 

Clint’s brow furrows as he looks between her and Coulson in confusion.  “You’re not even gonna ask for permission to be excused?”

 

Natasha is already out the door.  Coulson suppresses a chuckle.  Natasha does not ask for permission to do anything; she simply acts, and any rules she might have broken have a way of being mysteriously reworded before performance reviews come up. 

 

Clint looks back to his handler and shrugs.  “Permission to participate, sir?”

 

“Permission granted, Barton.  But,” Coulson adds as Clint is halfway out of his chair, “if I find a single marshmallow anywhere on this floor, I will personally confiscate your bow and restrict your range access for a month.”  To some, that might seem extreme, but Coulson has seen the damage Barton can do with marshmallows, and it is _not_ pretty.

 

Clint shouts a “sir, yes, sir,” as he darts down the hallway after Natasha, making for the break room.

 

\--

 

The Third Annual SHIELD Fuck with the Interns Contest’s rules are being explained when Clint and Natasha slip into the room, but they aren’t particularly paying attention to what Agent Sitwell is saying.  They were there when Maria Hill instituted the Contest three years prior when one particularly helpful intern didn’t seem to understand the concept of boundaries and Hill decided to fill said interns desk with Jell-o.  Natasha furrows her brow as she tries to remember that intern’s name.  Something with a P… Penelope…Patrick…Patricia…  Eh.. she’ll remember eventually.

 

Since then, the Contest became a semi-official even for the senior agents when Fury and Coulson made on lowly intern think they’d been body-swapped.  In the intern’s defense, they did damn good impersonations of each other.  Scary good impersonations.  So now, each year, the senior agents would draw intern’s names and proceed to generally screw with said intern.  The only rules were basic: don’t talk about the contest, don’t kill your intern, don’t traumatize them, if you make a mess, you clean it up, etc.  The winner was decided by majority vote on “most memorable prank”.  Last year, Sitwell had successfully convinced his intern, now Agent Golding, that he and his “twin,” Eli Sitwell, both worked at SHIELD and had won the right to preside over this year’s contest.

 

Clint nudges Natasha, snapping her from her thoughts.  “I’m going all out this year,” Clint whispers. 

 

“If you’re gonna try seducing someone, please promptly decide to shoot yourself in the head and put us all out of our misery.”

 

Clint scoffs at her.  “I was gonna pull the old ‘I am your father’ routine,” he starts quietly, “but that sounds more fun.”

 

Natasha’s restraint is the only thing that stops her from face-palming.  Clint chuckles.  “Why do you always get to play the ‘come hither’ game?”

 

Natasha shrugs.  “Probably because my sexy face doesn’t look like I’m constipated.”

 

“Please,” Clint retorts.  “Just because you bat for the other team doesn’t mean you can’t objectively appreciate a male form.”

 

“I can appreciate a male form,” Natasha replies blankly.  “You’re just disgusting.  I’ve seen you pee in a bottle on missions.  Trust me.  ‘Appreciation’ gone.”

 

“That was one time!”

 

Natasha’s mouth quirked upward.  It was too easy and too fun to yank Barton’s chain.  “One time is enough.”

 

“Agents Romanov and Barton,” Sitwell calls from the front of the room.  “It’s your turn to draw.”

 

Clint and Natasha hurry to the front and draw separate slips of paper from the tactical helmet holding interns names.  Clint peeks at his immediately before his brow furrows in confusion.  Natash gracefully strides to the back of the room with Clint trailing not far behind her.  She only stops once they’re in the hallway. 

 

“Who’d you get?” Clint asks quietly.

 

Natasha carefully unfolds the slip of paper and reads the name scrawled on her paper.  “Darcy Lewis.”

 

Clint stills for a moment before his mouth opens slightly and he uncrumples the paper in his hand.  He unfolds it slowly and holds it out to his partner.  In the same handwriting, Clint’s paper reads: Darcy Lewis.

 

“Well, this is a first.”

 

\--

 

Darcy Lewis, among the first in a new batch of recruits, sits in a clinic in medical, waiting as a SHIELD medic—his badge read George Dobson, but he looked more like a Bob to Darcy—ran the usual battery of tests, taking blood and tissue samples and asking her questions.

 

“Any preexisting medical conditions?” he asks as he takes the thermometer out of Darcy’s mouth.

 

“Unless you count sarcasm and a snarky attitude, no,” she counters.

 

“Bob” Dobson nods and makes a note in the chart as he labels the vial of blood and the oral swab with Darcy’s name and ID number.  “What about familial medical conditions?”

 

Darcy stars up at the ceiling as she thinks.  “Mom developed skin cancer a few years back.  It’s now in remission.  Grandpa had a heart attack.  Grandma may or may not be insane, the jury’s still out on that one.”

 

“And on your father’s side?”

 

Darcy is quiet for a moment.  She’s done this whole song and dance too many times before, but every once in a while it gets hard to talk about.  She doesn’t know why.  Just one of her many quirks.  That’s what she chalks it up to at least.

 

“Never met my dad,” she says quietly.  “He and Mom were a one-time thing.”

 

Thank God “Bob” doesn’t say anything about that, just gives a cursory nod before scribbling down a few more notes.  “Alright,” he says, standing up from his roll-y stool and opening the door.  “You’re free to go, Miss Lewis.  We’ll run some tests, but so far, medically speaking everything looks good.  We’ll call you if that changes.”

 

Darcy jumps to her feet quickly.  She gives Dobson a lazy salute.  “See you later, ‘Bob.’”

 

As Darcy scurries out of Medical and toward the elevators, she pretends not to hear Dobson’s protest.  Silly “Bob,” he’ll learn soon enough. 

 

She takes the elevator up several floors, carefully weaves through the maze of hallways, cubicles, and offices—courtesy of the smudged map she drew on her palm before she reported for her check-up—and miraculously finds her way back to her desk outside Coulson’s office.  Honestly, she’s more than a little surprised that they saddled her with assisting SHIELD’s third-in-command on her first month, but then again, Coulson is getting back to work after several months in physical therapy—they won’t tell her why, her clearance isn’t high enough to know, but she suspects it has something to do with one particular Norse God of Mischief and one particular alien attack on New York City.

 

Darcy picks up her PDA and notepad when she notices an apple on the corner of her desk.  It’s a glossy red and perfectly round, almost like a fake piece of fruit in a display.  She tentatively grabs the apple and sniffs.  It smells real enough that her stomach begins to grumble.  She hadn’t realized she was hungry.  She smiles, sets the apple in a drawer for safe-keeping, and strolls into Coulson’s office.

 

Said Agent looks tired.  She doesn’t blame him.  Wrangling the Avengers can’t nearly be as fun as it sounds.  Then again, what Darcy’s imagination dreams up at the words “Avenger Wrangling” involves less global crisis and more lassoing naked superheroes than is socially appropriate.  Coulson looks up from one of the five stack of paperwork on his desk and asks “Back already?”

 

She shakes herself from her wildly-uncontrollable imagination and replies, “‘Bob’ gave me a clean bill of health.”

 

For a moment, Coulson’s eyes tighten as he tries to remember if SHIELD has a medic on staff named Bob.  Darcy quickly clarifies, “His name should be ‘Bob.’  His parents messed up there.  But he’ll learn.  One way or another.”

 

The corner of Coulson’s mouth twitches; it’s the closest she’s seen him get to smiling.  Darcy counts that as a win.  “Anything I can help with, Phil?”

 

“No, thank you, Miss Lewis.  Just more of Stark’s publicity that needs to be handled.  I wouldn’t say no to a fresh cup, though.”

 

Darcy smiles, take Coulson’s now-cold mug, which reads “Agent 00-Badass,” and backs out of the room to let Coulson get back to work.  She briskly walks to the break room at the end of the hall and sighs when she finds the coffee maker is, once more, empty.  As she sets about making a fresh pot, her mind drifts to Tony Stark. Sure, she’s seen and read enough about Stark to know that, at least publically, he’s a grade A, narcissistic asshole with a wide array of “problems.”  But, something about that assessment feel suddenly off.  The only reason Darcy has to explain it is the Avengers’ movie night a few days earlier.

 

_Coulson had had a long day at the office and had called her into his office sometime around five.  He’d explained that, as the Avengers’  handler, he was required to “facilitate certain team bonding exercises,” one of which being a team movie night happening that evening.  Coulson politely asked if Darcy would come with him to keep him from removing Stark’s head with a pen.  Darcy agreed in exchange for a weekend of her choosing, of paid leave.  An hour later, she and Coulson were riding up the elevators of the newly completed Avengers’ Tower, and then madness began._

_To be fair, it wasn’t madness, but when you put six people with superhuman abilities and a litany of social and psychological disorders in one room and ask them to agree on a movie…things get…crazy._

_“Rosencrantz and Guildenstern is always fun,” Bruce offered as Tony scrolled through options._

_“If you want to spend two hours in boring Boringsville, maybe,” Tony countered.  He turned to Clint and Natasha.  “Come on assassins, you’ve got to have something fun up your sleeves.”_

_At the same time, Natasha suggested Pride and Prejudice while Clint proposed The Lion King._

_Tony looked between them in something close to shock.  “Who are you two, and what have you done with Clint and Natasha?”_

_Clint rolled his eyes and flopped on the couch.  Natasha glared, as if to say, “I dare you to question my cinematic choices.”  Tony kept scrolling through titles, until Thor shouted, “Wait, stop!”_

_Immediately, Tony dropped the remote to the couch.  Thor stared at the screen and the movie poster on display._

_“This word, Brigadoon,” Thor explained gleefully.  “I like it.”_

_A chorus of “no”s sounded around the room.  Rather than looking disheartened, Thor merely shrugged and settled himself on the floor.  Tony kept flipping through movie options, never stopping on one long enough for anyone to offer an opinion.  Phil sighed from his seat at the dining table, a laptop open in front of him and a stack of paperwork waiting for review._

_Darcy looked across each team member, hoping someone would say something and break the silence.  Steve looked torn between piping up and agitatedly rubbing his brow.  Part of her wanted Steve to make an executive decision; part of her was worried he’d choose some obscenely long classic, like Ben Hur or Gone With the Wind.  She’d already sat through those once in the last decade._

_“Aha!” Tony said happily, settling on a white movie poster with two blue silhouettes and the phrase Kiss Kiss Bang Bang in typescript.  “This settles it.  We’re watching this.”_

_Darcy furrowed her brow when none of the other Avengers said anything.  She looked briefly at Coulson—his expression was a strange mixture of amusement and frustration that made him look pained—before she quipped, “Wow, narcissistic much?”_

_Instantly, seven pairs of eyes were trained on her, some amazed, some incredulous, some just short of gleefully hysterical.  Tony stared at her with an oddly neutral expression.  “It’s a modern noir classic.”_

_Darcy rolled her eyes.  “You just wanna make everyone gawk at your actor-twin for an hour and a half.”_

_Someone snorted—she suspected it was Bruce, but the evidence was inconclusive.  Tony recoiled back in his seat, but a mix of manic delight and wry sportsmanship crossed his face.  “Who are you?”_

_“Darcy Lewis, Coulson’s PA.”_

_Tony nodded slowly, mulling over this development before grinning.  “I think I like you, Darcy Lewis, Coulson’s PA.  You can stay.”_

_And without another word, Tony had flipped back through the list of titles and settled on The Lion King._

_The rest of the night had gone peacefully.  Thor had initially scoffed at the choice, wondering why humans would want to watch drawings of talking animals when most of the beasts he’d encountered were slippery, devious figures.  Steve too seemed unsure of the prospect, particularly when Clint belted out the opening call in time with the rising sun.  Natasha only smirked quietly in her corner of the couch and burrowed in beneath her blanket._

_By “I Just Can’t Wait to be King,” Bruce and Tony were singing along.  By the time Scar had thrown Mufasa from the ledge, Thor had scooted across the floor until he was only a few feet from the screen,  and Steve was spiritedly reacting to every scene with well-timed “awws” and “oohhs”.  By “Hakuna Matata” Natasha was tapping her feet subtly and gently bounce-dancing in time with the music.  By “Can You Feel the Love Tonight” Coulson was humming along as he browsed through emails.  When the reprise of “Circle of Life” had finished, Thor yawped and jolted to his feet in an energetic, merry hop.  “THIS FILM! I LOVE IT!”_

_Darcy had laughed along with the other Avengers, but something about Tony’s movements caught her eye.  As the other chatted animatedly about which Disney move it introduce Thor to next, Tony leaned back and mulled over his almost-untouched glass of scotch.  Every few moments, his eyes would sweep over his teammates, and a small, longing look colored the corners of his eyes before he blinked it away.  For the first time, Darcy wondered if maybe SHIELD had the wrong read on Tony Stark.  Maybe he wasn’t just a grade A asshole with a suit of armor and a rebellious attitude.  Maybe he was missing something._

 

The coffeemaker beeps agitatedly at Darcy, letting her know the brew is complete, and she snaps quickly out of her thoughts.  She puts Coulson’s mug in the sink—one of the first lessons they teach new members in orientation is “do _not_ take Coulson’s mugs, he will do bad things if you do”—and takes a clean one from the cabinet.  The new, oversized mug is red-white-and-blue with a picture of Captain America’s shield and the words “Fanboy” printed on it.  Darcy grins as she pours the hot coffee into the cup and turns to leave. 

 

She nearly slops it all down the front of her blouse when she see’s Clint Barton hanging upside-down from the ceiling and smirking at her.

 

“Dear fucking God,” Darcy exclaims as she pauses and stills her hand, keeping any excess coffee from falling out of the cup.

 

“Aha!  I knew you’d call,” Barton replies coyly.  He then narrows his eyes slightly and makes a slight pout. 

 

To Darcy, he looks like a grumpy cat about to vomit; then again, it might just be the angle.  She sighs.  So, it’s gonna be one of _those_ days after all, and it’s not even eleven.  Perfect.

 

“Why are you upside-down, Agent Barton?” 

 

Barton shrugs.   “I like getting a different vantage point of the office.  That, and it’s great core exercise.”

 

“Uh-huh,” Darcy says skeptically.  “Gotta give the rabid fangirls and swooning field agents something to salivate over, I guess.”

 

Barton chuckles and swings down from the vent with an unnecessary show of acrobatics.  Darcy feels herself straining to keep her eyes from rolling in an overly dramatic way.  She does clap sarcastically—yes, clapping can be sarcastic if done correctly—when Barton sticks his landing and bows. 

 

Hoping that their conversation has reached a conclusion, Darcy picks up Coulson’s mug, thankfully still quite hot, and makes her way back to Coulson’s office.  She mapped out everything she has left to do today.  There are meetings, and interviews, and debriefings, and emails, and memos, and paperwork. Never-ending stacks of paperwork which must be completed in triplicate, organized, and delivered to other departments.  For as tech-savy as SHIELD is, they’re horribly archaic in terms of records.  It is one thing Darcy is not particularly fond of.  She’s never had so many paper cuts before.  She’s following this line of thought when she goes back to her desk and finds Barton spinning around in her desk chair like a hyperactive eight-year-old.

 

“Something else I can help you with, Agent Barton?” she asks, clippedly.

 

“Yeah, one question.” he replies as he stops spinning abruptly and fixes her with his way-too-intense-for-9-to-5-business stare.  “Did it hurt?”

 

Darcy’s brain whirs at a mile per minute, searching for the meaning behind Barton’s question.  It takes her about half-a-second too long to realize that Clint Barton, the World’s Greatest Marksman and all the shit associated with that, is using that tried-and-so-not-true classic pick up line on her.  For one stressful moment, she wishes she still had that cup of hot coffee to throw in his face.  But after that, the not-so-tiny, too sadistic part of her brain takes over.

 

“Actually, yes it did,” she answers coolly, slowly strolling around her desk and leaning back against it.

 

For less than a second, Barton is caught off guard, and his purposeful gaze falters.  It’s her turn to smirk.

 

“I mean, the surgery itself wasn’t so bad, ‘cause, you know, pain killers just get better and better.  It was more the recovery that was difficult,” she explains as she perches herself between Barton’s slightly spread legs.  “Well, that and learning how to pee sitting down.  That was… messy.”  She smiles flirtily and rests her hand just above Barton’s knee.  “But thank you for asking.  It’s _quite_ thoughtful.”

 

And Barton is wide-eyed and silent for about three seconds too long before he starts to move, looking like he’s ready to leap into the roof and scurry to the nearest air duct.

 

“Barton.”

 

He stills at the sharp command.  Darcy turns around to see Coulson standing in the doorway of his office wearing what she’s dubbed Bland Expression No. 5: Glee.  She doesn’t immediately know whether to run for it or draft her resignation letter, but then she realizes that Coulson is looking past her, at Barton.

 

“You’re now her bitch,” Coulson says calmly.

 

An enormous grin spreads across Darcy’s face.  Barton’s instantly droops into dismay.  He makes a noise of protest and gives a pleading look before Coulson continues.  “She beat you fair and square, and now, you deal with the consequences.”

 

“Bu—”

 

“No, I’m not saving you.  She tazed a Norse God.  You should know better than to fuck with her.”

 

And Coulson disappears back into his office to prepare of his noon meeting with Fury and the Council.  Darcy slowly turns toward Barton with an impish grin on her face. 

 

“Guess who’s giving me a piggyback ride to the cafeteria?”

 

Barton visibly gulps.

 

\--

 

Shortly before his noon meeting, Phil is interrupted by a knock at his open office door.  He looks up to see Dobson from medical standing in the doorway, shifting his weight from one foot to the other and holding a bright blue medical report in his hands.

 

Phil closes the mission debriefs he’s been studying and waves Dobson into the room.  “What can I help you with today, Dobson?”

 

Dobson brow knits and he stares at the file between his fingers.  “Um… I have Ms. Lewis’s report, Agent Coulson.”

 

Phil is marginally impressed by that, though he doesn’t show it.  “Usually it takes a few days for all the tests to go through.”

 

“We put a rush on this one, sir.  There was an…irregularity in Ms. Lewis’s DNA profile,” Dobson replies as he hands over the blue folder.

 

“Irregular, how?” Phil asks as he thumbs through the report to the section on Darcy’s DNA profile.

 

Dobson wrings his hands together.  “We found a fifty percent match.”

 

Phil’s raised eyebrows betray his surprise.  He looks away from the medic and quickly reads over the data.  He scans the medical jargon, looking for the important piece of information.  He carefully keeps his eyes steady as he reads over the lines of text.  Holding in a sigh, Phil closes the folder and sets it down on his desk, briefly drumming his fingers over the cover.

 

“Who else has seen this?”  He finally questions.

 

“Just me, sir.”

 

Phil nods, briefly correlating how many calls he’ll need to make to get this handled in a timely manner.  He glances at his watch: 11:43.  He has time.

 

“Keep it that way, ‘Bob,’” Phil replies as he picks up his cell phone and begins paging Fury.

 

Dobson begins to protest before Phil pulls out Coulson’s Not-Glare No.2:  if you know what’s good for you, you will shut up.  Dobson quickly swallows his words and backs out of the office.  Only then does Phil slump in the chair and sigh. 

 

Things have, unfortunately, just become a little more complicated.

 

\--

 

Darcy and her new-found mount—she’s amazed she went so long without commandeering a piggyback ride from, well, anyone—are headed back to her desk when they pass Tony Stark and Pepper Potts in the hallway.  The pair takes in the two SHIELD agents with expressions of confusion and amusement, respectively.  Clint shifts from side to side, probably ready to dump her on her ass at a moment’s notice.  Darcy quickly explains.  “Barton’s my bitch now.”

 

Pepper bites back a laugh, but her smile is telling of her glee.  Tony slowly nods in understanding and gives Barton a sympathetic look.  “Don’t worry too much about it, Katniss.  Everybody is someone else’s bitch.”

 

Barton pouts a little at that, and Darcy takes pity on him.  She slides off quickly and walks the rest of the way to her desk.  She’s surprised to find a post it on her desk with a brief _Cafeteria @ 3_ scribbled on it though she can’t help but wonder who left it for her.  Equally surprising, Tony and Pepper have followed her.  Darcy quirks an eyebrow at that, and Ms. Potts replies, “We have a meeting with Phil.  He said it was urgent.”

 

Tony dramatically rolls his eyes and huffs.  “Had to drag me away from re-engineering the Mark VIII thrusters.  I am this close to a breakthrough,” he elaborates, holding his thumb and forefinger up to demonstrate how close he is.

 

Ms Potts chuckles.  “And how long have you been ‘this close,’ Tony?”

 

Tony mumbles something that sounds like “…three days….”  Darcy just smirks and picks up her landline to page Coulson.

 

“Yes, Miss Lewis,” Coulson answers promptly.

 

“Ms. Potts and Mr. Stark are here for their meeting, sir.”

 

She can hear papers moving on the other end of the line before Coulson replies, “Show them in, Miss Lewis.”

 

Darcy hangs up the phone and opens Coulson’s door, letting Pepper and Tony in.  She’s about to close the door, when she hears a voice, deeper than Coulson’s and rougher, call, “Please stay, Miss Lewis.  This meeting concerns you.”

 

Darcy looks up and sees Nick Fury standing behind Coulson’s desk as well.  She gulps without meaning to—she’s never really met Director Fury, but she’s heard all the stories, and all the stories say he’s one scary motherfucker—and steps inside, closing the door behind her and taking a seat in the vacant chair on Pepper’s left.

 

“What’s going on, Agent?” Tony asks quickly, his leg bouncing impatiently as he tries to wait for til he can get back to his lab.

 

Coulson and Fury exchange a look—Darcy can’t quite read the unspoken conversation they’re having—and Coulson sighs and leans forward resting his elbows on his desk.

 

“It’s standard procedure for all incoming SHIELD interns to have a medical checkup and DNA scanning for security purposes.  Today, Miss Lewis had her examination, and her DNA tests --.”

 

“That’s great,” Tony interrupts, “but what exactly are me and Potts here for?”

 

While Darcy doesn’t like Tony butting in whenever it’s been thirty seconds since he last spoke, she can’t help but agree with him about that question. 

 

Fury clears his throat and looks Tony squarely in the eye before saying, “Mr. Stark, meet your daughter.”

 

For half a moment, Darcy’s brain glitches as she tries to piece together everything she’s heard.  Then, she glances to her left and see’s Tony’s face go from irritated to blank to confused to worried.  She looks up and Coulson’s giving her a sympathetic look that seems to say “I’m so sorry.”

 

…Well… this is awkward.

 

\--

 

So, yeah, the meeting with Fury, Coulson, Pepper and Darcy’s newly discovered father had not ended well.  For starters, said father had thrown a temper tantrum—yes, an honest to God temper tantrum with shouting and stomping and waving his fists in the air angrily—before Tony stormed out of the office with Pepper following quickly and casting an apologetic glance over her shoulder at the three SHIELD agents.  Darcy had taken that as a good enough cue to excuse herself and fled before her brain could start properly functioning.

 

So, Darcy had spent the last hour or so in the cafeteria, staring at a bowl full of chocolate pudding as if she hoped the gooey dessert would open wide and swallow her.  Whatever monsters lay in pudding-y hell had to be more manageable than having a diva for a father.  The thought makes her sink lower into her seat.

 

“You’re early,” Darcy hears after untold minutes of semi-suicidal contemplation.  She looks up slowly and finds Natasha Romanov standing across the table from her holding two steaming mugs.

 

Darcy sniffs the air and detects faint hints of chocolate wafting her way.  “Is that hot cocoa?”

 

Natasha nods with a soft almost-smile and sits across from Darcy, setting one of the mugs in front of her.  Without hesitation, Darcy picks up the mug and takes a long sip, only to notice that the creamy chocolate has a slight bitter aftertaste.  She runs her tongue over the top of her mouth before asking “Adult hot cocoa?”

 

“Is there any other kind?”  Natasha replies, taking a sip from her mug as well.

 

Darcy almost grins at that for a second before the idea of alcohol invariably leads her back to Tony Stark, and she glowers down at the pudding once more.  Neither woman says anything for a few minutes.  Natasha sits with perfect stillness, warming her hands on the mug and watching Darcy.

 

“They fuck up the recipe again?” Natasha asks peaceably, though she can tell the dessert is untouched.

 

Darcy shakes her head.

 

Natasha doesn’t move.  “So, this is about Tony being a fuckwad?”

 

Darcy gives a sharp breath of soundless laughter.  “Something like that.” Darcy pauses before asking “How’d you find out?”

 

Natasha gives her an incredulous look.  Oh, yeah, super secret spy/assassin is explanation enough.  But Natasha shrugs and then offers, “Clint was in the air vents.  He’s a chatty Katya.”

 

“Cathy,” Darcy corrects automatically, though the slip-up does make her smile.

 

Natasha gives an almost-smile in return.  She calmly slides her hand across the table and rests it on top of Darcy’s.  Her hands are surprisingly smooth for a field agent and warm from the mug.  Darcy feels herself flush, but tries to play it off by taking a long swig from her own mug.  Natasha’s almost-smile remains. 

 

“Don’t worry too much about Tony.  Potts will knock some sense into him.  He’s just as freaked out as you are.”

 

“I’m fine.”

 

Natasha snorts.  “Not yet,” she says quietly.  “But you will be.”

 

Then, Natasha rises to her feet and slowly strides toward the Cafeteria doors.  Darcy abruptly says “Can I ask you a question?”

 

Natasha stops and turns around, her face calm and untouched by emotion.  She nods slowly.

 

“I keep hearing about some contest the senior agents have to haze the interns or something,” Darcy explains quickly.  “Is that what you and Clint have been doing?”

 

“Clint, yes,” Natasha replies.  “Me, not so much.”

 

Darcy nods in understanding, a faint hint of a smile rising at the corners of her mouth and eyes. 

 

Natasha cocks her head to the side and shifts her weight.  “Is it working?”

 

Darcy grins before looking away coyly.  “Maybe a little bit.”

 

When Darcy looks back, Natasha is smiling.

 

\--

 

Regardless of whatever words of wisdom or encouragement she receives from other SHIELD agents, Darcy does her best to stay off the radar for at least a few days.  She completes her tasks and runs errands as Coulson assigns them to her.  She’s been lucky that she hasn’t had to make any trips to Avenger’s Tower.  She may be good at sarcasm and snark, but she can’t quite stomach awkward, and Avenger’s Tower is emanating so much awkward, she can feel it is SHIELD HQ half a mile away.

 

She gets a phone call from Pepper Potts one otherwise-unmemorable Thursday afternoon, asking her to come by the Tower that evening.  Without enough time to fabricate a decent excuse, Darcy stammers out something about having to work late.  Pepper, ever gracious and yet one of the most sadistic women she’s ever encountered, doesn’t take the hint and explains that Tony will be in, and awake, and sober at whatever time she gets off work.  When Darcy hangs up, she promptly slams her head into her desk and groans.  However, when she gets back to her desk mid afternoon, Darcy finds a plate of warm chocolate chip cookies and a cold glass of milk.  She’s still not sure how Natasha finds out when she’s having a bad day, or why Natasha keeps giving her food, but she’s not gonna question it.  Darcy just takes it as one of the perks of dating a spy.

 

Still, to say Darcy finds every menial task to do for the rest of the day is an understatement.  Darcy catches up on her paperwork, completes those lingering, tedious tasks she has on her to-do list, cleans out her email, reorganizes her desk, and orders Coulson a new chair because he’s been purposefully not-bitching about his back hurting for the last few days. 

 

By the time she gets all of that done, it’s after nine.  Darcy stares at the clock and groans, setting her head down on her desk and sighing.  She does not want to go to the Tower.  She wants to go home and curl up in her too small, lumpy bed and drink red wine and watch _Heroes_ until she passes out.  If only she were better at sneaking, she could sneak out through a sewage line or something, because Pepper probably sent a Stark Industries car to pick her up after work.  She groans loudly.  When did this become her life?

 

“Everything alright, Miss Lewis?”

 

Darcy rolls her head to the side and looks up at Coulson pleadingly.  “Is having an accident with a copier that leads to a concussion an acceptable excuse to get me out of my meeting with Stark?”

 

Another recognizable look drifts across Coulson’s face.  Bland Expression No. 3: Mild Amusement.  Sometimes she hates working for him.

 

“Sadly, I think that would just lead to Stark visiting you at the hospital where you can’t actually run.”

 

Nodding, Darcy rolls her head back onto the desk and closes her eyes.  She knows she’s being childish, but frankly, it’s in her genes—unfortunately, now she knows that for a fact. 

 

“I don’t know what to do,” she mutters ruefully.  “I don’t know what to say.  ‘Hey Dad, nice to know you after twenty-five years.  Wanna tell me about that time you banged my mom?’”

 

Coulson gives a soft chuckle and pats her shoulder.  “Welcome to the club.”

 

Surprisingly, that startles a laugh out of Darcy.  She can’t help but sit up and run a hand through her now-mussed hair.  It’s true, she supposes, SHIELD is one fucked-up-semi-incestuous-broken-beyond-repair club with some of the strangest members to have walked the earth.  And now she’s part of it.

 

“And,” Coulson adds a moment later, “if he starts to annoy you, just threaten to taze him.”

 

Darcy laughs, already feeling the tiniest bit less-freaked-out by the prospect of talking to her father.  She looks up at Coulson.  Bland Expression No. 14: Pride. 

 

“So…” Darcy says quickly after Coulson’s locked his office door and is preparing to leave for the night.  “You’re kinda like my fairy godmother.”

 

Coulson doesn’t stop walking en route to the elevator.  He just calls over his shoulder, “If you tell anyone, I will remove your ovaries with a spork.”

 

\--

 

 Sure enough, there’s a Stark Industries car waiting in the SHIELD garage.  Darcy gives the driver a nod when he opens the door for her and she calmly slides into the back seat.  They make chitchat about the weather, the New York sports teams, all the usual topics until the car pulls into the underground garage at Avenger’s Tower.

 

In the elevator, Darcy has a mild panic attack and briefly contemplates pulling the emergency stop and getting out at the nearest random floor.  She’s not mentally prepared for this.  She’s in no fit state to have a father figure in her life.  Besides, because she’s Coulson’s assistant, she’s kind of assistant handler of the Avengers, and that just makes everything maddeningly complicated. 

 

Between floors thirty-four and sixty-eight, Darcy regrets every decision that led her to this point in her life.  Accepting the job at SHIELD, surviving the attack on Puente Antigua, tasing a Norse deity, applying to be Jane’s intern, majoring in poli-sci, smoking pot that one time with Frank and getting caught by her parents which led to the in-state only college applications.  If she wanted to, she could probably trace the string of choices all the way back to her birth.  Thankfully, she doesn’t.   Instead, she gets angry.  Then depressed.  Then sad. Then angry again.  Then hungry—in her defense, she’d barely eaten dinner for the nerves.

 

Ding.  The elevator slows to a stop.  The doors slide open into the main living area of Avenger’s Tower.  It’s mostly empty given the time of night, except, of course, for Tony slumped in an arm chair, hands twitching for a glass of scotch.  He jolts to his feet when he sees Darcy exit the elevator, opening his mouth once or twice before he realizes he’s at a loss for words.  Darcy crosses her arms over her chest and bobs up and down on her feet. 

 

Suffice it to say, the awkwardness is suffocating.

 

“Can I get you a drink?” Tony asks quickly.

 

At this point, she’s not sure if this conversation will be more palatable if she’s sober or tipsy.  She airs on the side of caution and shakes her head.  Tony nods and folds his hands together in front of him.  She can practically hear the seconds crawling by.  It is agonizing.

 

“What’d Pepper have to do to get you here?”  Tony questions speedily, like he hopes blurting out the words will make the awkward go away; it only makes the tension worse.

 

“Ignored my excuse and sent a car.  You?”

 

“Locked me out of the lab when I had to go find a bathroom.”

 

Darcy’s brow furrows.  “Don’t you have one in the lab?”

 

“No, I do,” Tony explains.  “Just a certain AI decided to turn off the water to it, and, well, when you gotta go… you know how it goes.”

 

Darcy nods sympathetically.  Pepper Potts is one devious and equally well-dressed bitch. 

 

Tony shoves his hands into his pockets and stares down at his feet.  “Listen, I… I suck at this whole family thing.  Didn’t have the happiest childhood and all.”

 

“So I’ve been told,” Darcy comments.

 

“The thing is I… if I’d known about your mom, I would have—”

 

“—No, it’s okay.”

 

“—tried to be there for y’all.  It was… it was a dark time in my life.  And if I’d known, then…” Tony trails off at the end, his mouth moving around unspoken words.

 

On instinct, Darcy crosses the living room and gives Tony an odd pat on the shoulder.  It feels like the right thing to do, even if it’s possibly the most awkward and un-Darcy-like thing she’s ever done.  Tony draws in a sharp breath and looks at her.  For a brief moment, he has that same empty look that she saw the night of the movie viewing.  Then, something behind his eyes changes, and he smiles warmly at her.

 

“I never thought I’d have kids.” 

 

He looks like he wants to say more, like he can’t quite put what he’s feeling into words.  Darcy gives him a small nod in return and grabs Tony in a tight hug.  She gets it those confusing feelings.  She doesn’t need him to say it.  Tony squeezes her back, like if he doesn’t hold tight enough, she’ll disappear.  When they pull apart, his eyes are slightly misty, but neither of them mentions it. 

 

“So,” Tony says abruptly, trying to distract himself from those dreaded emotions, “any boyfriends I need to be worried about?”

 

Darcy grins.  “Well, apparently Barton is my bitch.”

 

Tony visibly pales.  “I thought that was just a joke thing.”

 

“Oh it is,” Darcy continues.  “Just wanted to see how you really felt about that.”

 

Tony heaves an abrupt sigh of relief and relaxes.  “Just watch yourself.  Legolas will give as good as he gets.  He might try to pull a Cupid on you.  Set you up with, I don’t know, Fury or something.”

 

Darcy snorts.  “Nah, I think he knows better than that.  I already make him carry me places, and he doesn’t want to incur the wrath of the girl who tazed Thor.”

 

“That was you?”

 

Darcy holds up her thumb and forefinger indicating “just a little bit.”  Tony just beams in response and offers her a fist bump.  So, this is the kind of father Tony Stark will be: the one who gets you into trouble and high fives you when you get out unscathed.

 

She can’t help smiling about that.

 

\--

 

The Third Annual SHIELD Fuck With the Interns Contest ends with a…well, a bark.

 

Surprisingly, Barton gets Darcy back by substituting every active SHIELD agent in HQ with a tiny kitten dressed in the regulation blue uniform.  How he managed to get Coulson out of his office and convinced him to go along with the plan, Darcy will never know.  All she knows is that was the most confusing three hours of her life which ends with an exasperated “Dammit Barton.”

 

So yeah, Barton officially ceased to be her bitch.  On the plus side, his constant sneaking through the air vents meant he had _all_ the best office gossip—and Darcy couldn’t deny that gossip made the work day flow faster.

 

\--

 

“Hey Papa-pants!”

 

“Don’t do that.  That just sounds creepy.”

 

“Sheesh, I should call you Grumpy.”

 

“Hey, offense taken, young lady.”

 

“Whatever, old man.”

 

“Oh, what’s this?”

 

“Give that back!”

 

“Chocolates? Someone has a secret admirer.”

 

“Um… Tony…”

 

“I’m not gonna like this, am I?”

 

“I… may or may not be…dating…Natasha.”

 

“…”

 

“Tony?”

 

“Good God, Darcy.  Stop trying to give me a heart attack.”

 

“Sorry, Dad.”

 

 

FIN.


End file.
